Raising Roy
by IsmAsm
Summary: Madame Christmas raised Roy from the time he was very young. This is the story of how Roy became the man he is.
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: Small pseudo-spoilers for later FMA chapters, but if you're on this site, you should have read far enough, what with all the Chapter 102 spoilers flying around.

Characters: Roy Mustang and Madame Christmas, for the most part.

Summary: Growing up in a brothel must have been an interesting experience for Roy, and raising him was have been a challenge for Chris. Here is that story.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist, though I wish I did.

Author's Note: This my first FMA fanfic, so I really would like some reviews. Also, though it may no seem like it in this chapter, but should be obvious from the summary, this story will contain gratuitous amounts of Chris Mustang, because she is awesome. There may or may not be hints of Royai in later chapters--and by later, I mean much later.

Chapter 1

"Damned new-fangled contraptions," muttered the senior of the two military police officers investigating the scene of the accident. "Who the hell would ride in one of them?"

The officer had only spoken his thoughts aloud, but his more junior partner looked up from his examination of the two bodies anyway. "Sir?"

The older man quirked an eyebrow. "Wasn't talkin' to you, Higgs."

"Oh, I know," replied Higgs. "But what are you talking about, anyway."

"Look at these poor people. Wasn't a horse-and-buggy that killed them." He sighed. "What're they called? 'Automobiles?'"

"Yes sir. Well, at least it will be easy to track down the driver. Not too many people around here own an auto."

"Fat lot of good it'll do these two."

The two officers looked down at the bodies, the bodies of a young married couple. They were both dark-haired and dressed in nice clothes--a nice dinner for two. Their last dinner.

The automobile had hit them both full-on. They were almost completely unrecognizable, their bodies broken from the impact and their faces bloodied and beaten.

Higgs reached into the man's jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet. He wasn't carrying much money: either the family didn't have much to begin with or he had spent most of it on his dinner. A card in one of the sleeves read: "Richard Mustang." Well, at least they had a name to work with.

There was something else in the other sleeve of this Richard Mustang's wallet. Higgs tugged it out.

"Oh, damn it all," he swore.

His partner turned from where he was examining the woman, concerned. An "oh, damn it all" from Higgs was the equivalent of a much fouler phrase on another man. "What is it?"

"It" was a photograph of a young dark-haired man and his family. The man's eyes were dark-colored and happy. He was grinning, and the grin was so infectious that even the two officers could scarcely stop themselves from smiling in return.

The woman next to him, obviously his wife, was beautiful in an exotic way. Her hair was long and dark, framing a round face that was obviously not Amestrian. Her almond-shaped dark eyes tilted up at the corners. She wore a dress not unlike those worn in Xing, hinting at her origins.

She held a boy, who couldn't be older than four, in her arms. He resembled her greatly, especially around the eyes and in the shape of his face. The young man was visible in him too, tempering the Xingese features enough that one looking at the boy away from his mother wouldn't immediately guess that he was Xingese. It gave him an exotic flair: In time, this little boy would be quite the charmer.

Higgs and his partner looked at the photograph and then at the two bodies. Past the contusions and the blood, the faces of the two adults could be discerned.

Which meant, of course, that they were going to have to tell a four year old boy that his parents were never coming home.

* * *

Down at the station, the senior partner logged in the two bodies, leaving Higgs the job of informing the family. He knocked on the door of the Mustang residence, hoping against all hope that no one would answer.

His hope was denied as the door swung open to reveal a sleepy little boy with a mop of glossy black hair that stuck on the side of his head. His black, almond-shaped eyes turned up the corners. He was, without a doubt, the little boy in the photograph.

"Hello," said Higgs, unsure of where to begin. The eyes flashed with annoyance at being woken up and then having his time wasted. Higgs chuckled to himself.

"Honest eyes, this one has."

"What's your name?"

"Roy," the boy yawned, rubbing his eyes. "Who are you?"

"My name is Michael Higgs. I work for the military police. Can I come in?"

Roy stood aside and Higgs stepped into the house. "My mama and papa are out right now. They should be home soon, 'cause the babysitter left. She always leaves when it's time for them to come home."

Higgs swallowed. Better to just say it. "Roy, your parents won't be coming home tonight."

"Did Papa drink too much and get in trouble again? Mama always says that he drinks too much, and Aunty said so too the one time I saw her."

An aunt? Well, at least there'd be some place to put the kid while the judge sorted out custody and will issues.

"No, Roy, your father didn't get in trouble for drinking."

"Then why are you here? Did Mama do something wrong?"

"No, of course not," Higgs said. "Roy, do you know what automobiles are?"

Roy nodded. "They have wheels like carriages but no horses pull them. They have an engine. They were developed by a collaboration of engineers and alchemists. My mama and papa say they're dangerous and we should stay away from them. Is this important?"

"Yes, it is," replied Higgs, somewhat surprised at the boy's response. He wasn't a dumb kid. "Roy, earlier tonight, an automobile driver hit both of your parents and drove away. No one was around to help them, and they were dead before the police arrived."

Roy's eyes grew wide and his black brows contracted. He said nothing.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" Higgs asked gently. Roy nodded. His eyes filled tears.

"When you said they're not coming home tonight, you mean they're not coming home at all, don't you?"

Higgs pulled him gently into his arms and picked him up. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Sorry isn't going to bring them back, Mr. Higgs."

Higgs bit his lip to keep from crying at the boy's tone. "No, it's not. Nothing can do that. But you're alive, Roy Mustang, and we can do something with you."

Roy shifted in his arms, pulled away from Higgs's shoulder. The look in his eyes, behind the tears that coursed down his cheeks, were fiery with determination, shinning with a stubborn will.

"Now, what's your aunt's name and where does she live?"

Roy blinked away his tears, took a deep breath, and said, "Her name's Chris Mustang, and she lives in Central."

Higgs nodded, and carried Roy Mustang away from his house to the military police station.

* * *

Roy had started crying again on the way to the station, and he was now asleep on Higgs's lap as Higgs started the search for one Chris Mustang of Central.

The process was harder than he expected. He had searched through all of the department's records of people filed under both "M" and "C" in Central, but he had found nothing. Whatever this woman did for a living, she didn't file income taxes for it and she kept well away from the law.

Given what that generally implied, he wasn't sure he wanted to send a four year old boy to live with her anyway. Of course, he could be mistaken. He hoped to God he was.

He picked up the phone and dialed Central's MP station.

"Hello?" came the voice on the other line.

"Er, hi, this is Higgs from the MP station in East City. I was wondering, do you have any records on a Chris Mustang?"

"Hold, please."

Well, the folks in Central sure were a rude bunch. Higgs heard the rustling of pages and the slamming of a desk drawer.

"Nope, sorry."

"That's fine. Sorry to bother you."

Higgs hung up the phone with a sigh. He had one last shot at finding this woman. He stood up, replacing Roy on his chair, and cleared his throat to alert the rest of the MP's.

"Hey, do any of you guys know a Chris Mustang in Central?"

There was a smattering of laughter from a pair of officers he didn't associate with much.

"Why do you want to know?" One called back.

Higgs pointed to the boy in his chair. "She's his aunt. "You know the bodies we brought in earlier tonight? Those are his parents. The kid's going to Chris Mustang until some justice of the peace figures out what to do with him."

"Poor kid," muttered the other. "If you're looking for her, you'd be better off searching under 'Christmas'. I wouldn't send a kid to her, though."

"Why?" Higgs asked.

"She works for Madame Hari in Central. You know who Madame Hari is?"

Higgs shook his head. The others laughed again. One pulled a card from his pocket and offered it to him.

Higgs crossed the room and took it, frowning.

"We're giving it to you because we feel bad for the kid. You'll have to pay us back later."

Higgs returned to his desk. Roy was curled up like a cat on his chair, and Higgs didn't have the heart to disturb him.

Even in sleep that determined, stubborn look hadn't entirely left the boy. Higgs felt deep down that this boy was going to do something great. Maybe being left in the care of what those two MP's were implying might not be the worst thing for him. It could give him talents that would later become useful.

He picked up the phone.

* * *

Twenty-six years later, when very confused, contradicting reports would flow in from Central that Roy Mustang was staging a coup d'etat against King Bradley, and then he was helping him, and then word was coming out that Bradley was homunculus, whatever that was, and then.....

Higgs would pause, thinking of the look on the face of a four year old boy called Roy Mustang, and wonder if they were the same person.

Great things indeed, he would decide.

Secondary Author's Note: Kudos to you if you know where Chris's employer's name came from!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own not Fullmetal Alchemist. If I did, we would get chapters more than once a month.

Summary: Chris Mustang deals with some unpleasant knowledge, and meets her nephew again.

Characters: Roy Mustang and Madame Christmas

Warnings: None

Author's Note: This one got away from me a bit. It's a necessary chapter, but perhaps not the finest example of my work. Bear with me, you guys.

Chapter 2

It was the simple truth that Chris Mustang did not think much of her older brother and his wife. When she did--which was not often--it generally made her angry. Richard Mustang did not hold his little sister's chosen profession in high esteem.

Like he was one to talk, anyway. Chris's opinion of Rich's intelligence was about as low as his view of her career. And that went for his Xingese beauty of a wife. Honestly, what woman, finding life in her home country to be displeasing, crossed a dangerous desert to take up residence in a militaristic foreign country?

Their son Roy was different matter, on the other hand. From the one time she'd met the boy, Chris knew he had potential, if only she ever get the opportunity to shape him. He was the cutest little thing she'd ever seen too. Like she said, potential.

Too bad the only way she would ever see little Roy again was if both of his parents died, and though she did not get on well with her brother, she didn't want to see him dead.

Chris sighed and went down the stairs to the lounge. Prime business time started soon, and the girls were all taking their places, as directed by Madame Hari. She passed several of her friends saying goodbye to their daughters--with the explicit instructions, tonight as in all nights, to stay upstairs and out of sight. The little ones were the result of accidents that occasionally happened in their line of work.

For the oddest reason, only girls had been produced from such unions. Maybe there was something in the drinks.

Madame Hari, a former beauty gone a tad to seed, was on the phone when Chris arrived in the lounge, and from the look on her face, she was most displeased. Upon sighting Chris, she beckoned imperiously, a dangerous look in her still-stunning emerald eyes.

"Chris, you have a phone call."

The hell? She made it perfectly clear she didn't "deliver." None of them did, by order of Madame Hari. The madame didn't run a call girl service.

"From whom?"

The madame handed her the phone without an answer.

"Hello?"

"Is this Chris Mustang?" asked the voice on the other line. A young man, from the sound of it.

"Who's asking?" Chris replied.

"My name is Michael Higgs, from the Military Police in East City." came the response.

"If my brother said I'd pay his bail, he's got a lot of nerve, and you can tell him to just go to Hell." She wouldn't bail him out again if it was the last thing she ever did. She had enough of that when they were kids, before his damned drinking problem and his shotgun wedding to some foreign almost-royalty, or whatever she was.

"It is about your brother, but he won't need any bail paid, or anything."

"Good."

"Not really, ma'am. Look, can you come to East City by any chance?"

"Why would I need to do that? I've got a lot of customers that expect to see me in my place, and I can't just up and leave to East City for my good-for-nothing older brother."

"We need you to identify two people for us."

Chris felt herself go cold. Of all the thoughts she had to have: the MP's didn't ask for identification of living people, and if they were calling about her brother, they already had a good idea of who these two were.

The MP was still talking, but he sounded a long way off.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" That didn't sound like her voice, unless someone had come by and transmuted her larynx while she wasn't looking.

"It's about their son, Roy. Do you think you can come and look after him until custody agreements are finalized?"

"Of course. But I'll be keeping him permanently. He's got no other family to speak of."

"We'll see about that, ma'am. When will you be here?"

"In the morning. I'll leave now." Her customers' libidos could hold out a little while longer.

* * *

"Aunty Chris!" called a child's voice from across the platform at East City's train station.

Strange, it was, that someone in this God-forsaken city was actually happy to see her.

She looked down when a she felt a tug on her dress. A small boy looked up a her, a smile on his lips but not in his dark eyes. She picked him up and made her way to the nervous-looking young MP she guess was Michael Higgs.

"Aunty, are you here to take care of me?" asked Roy Mustang, his head cocked to the side. The question sparked in his eyes too.

"Along with some more unpleasant business, yes," she replied. She looked him over. His hair was too long, stuck up everywhere, and hung in his eyes. "First though, you need a haircut."

"I thought 'taking care of me' was more like feeding me. I'm hungry."

She ruffled the unruly mop fondly. "At such an advanced age as yours, eating is your raison d'être, n'est pas?"

Roy looked confused. "I guess so, as long as that means we're gonna eat."

There was something about this kid, she decided. He had the best sense of timing. She could tell the MP sensed it too, because his face brightened considerably from when she first spotted him.

"You must be Chris Mustang," he said by way of greeting. "I'm Michael Higgs."

She inclined her head. "I'd gathered as much. I'd like to get the unpleasantries over with as soon as possible, if you please."

"Of course. If you'd follow me, please."

Outside of the station, an official-looking driver in a government-issue uniform sat atop a carriage drawn by four official-looking horses.

"No cars?" she asked Higgs.

Higgs frowned. "We have cars, of course, but we thought it best to take the carriage, given the circumstances."

"What circumstances?"

Higgs frowned and gestured her inside. Once they were all comfortable, the driver started forward.

"Last night my partner and I discovered two bodies by the side of the road. They were killed by a collision with an automobile and were almost unrecognizable. In fact, if the man hadn't had a photograph in his wallet, we wouldn't have know they were the Mustangs."

Well, that explained the need for the carriage. Roy wasn't really paying attention to the conversation; he was standing up on Chris's lap and staring out the window, but she had the feeling that being in a car the morning after his parents were killed by one wouldn't have been good for his psyche.

"I assume you need me to identify them for administrative reasons," Chris said. Higgs nodded.

"We could, of course, be wrong, in which case, I apologize for the inconvenience."

"But you don't think so."

Higgs shook his head.

* * *

Chris sighed as she looked in the mirror. Black was such a depressing color on her. She never wore it to work.

Three days had passed since she identified the bodies of her brother and his wife. Today was their funeral. She turned around. Her nephew sat on a chair in the hotel room she had rented, watching the rain.

Fitting weather for a funeral, naturally. As Roy had put it, "Even the sky is crying for them, Aunty Chris."

"Roy," she called. He turned his head, the mess of hair falling into his eyes. She never had cut his hair. "Come on, it's time."

He slid down from the chair and took her hand. He kept his eyes on his feet, and she could see him worrying his lip between his teeth.

"It's okay to cry, Roy-boy," she said, putting her hand on his head. He looked up at her, and, very solemnly, shook his head.

"I've cried enough. Mama and Papa would want me to be strong."

He was too young to say that. She sighed and picked him up, deciding that if he wasn't going to cry, then he should at least be allowed to be carried.

The funeral was a depressingly--as if it wasn't sad enough already--perfunctory affair. No one really knew the Mustangs well enough to make a fitting eulogy, so must of what was said had no heart to it.

Everything she said was untrue. Roy stood unnaturally quiet by her side, staring at the shared grave like he couldn't quite believe it was all real.

She manage to get him to drop a handful of dirt into the grave, as was traditional, but he definitely didn't understand the point behind that. She wasn't really sure how to explain it to him.

After the grave was filled, she accepted condolences for the both of them as he stood bareheaded in the rain, staring at the headstones. Once all the well-wishers had left, she put her hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her, water running down either side of his face. She didn't know if it was rain or tears.

"It's raining today, Aunty."

* * *

It was the first time Roy Mustang said that at a funeral, but it wouldn't be the last.

Secondary Author's Note: I don't know about you all, but "It's going to rain today" makes me want to cry every time I hear/read it. Because, I'm not already crying enough when Elysia says, "Mama, why are they burying Papa?" I want to thank all again the ones who review the last chapter. You make it easy for a girl to write more! I'm trying something that's very different from my usual style. I know a lot of people have read this, and I really could use all the advice I could get. Please review. Even a "nice job" make me smile!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist isn't mine. I do wish it was.

Summary: Roy meets his new "sisters" and proves that he can act like a four year old.

Warnings: Um, little spoilers from the FMA chapters in the 60's, I guess. Or FMA: Brotherhood episode 31.

Characters: Roy, Chris, and a minor character by the name of Vanessa who appears in the above chapter/episode.

Author's Note: I know I told one of my reviewers (you guys are awesome, btw) that I'd have this up by Thursday, but various events happened that made me not in the mood to write. So I posted it now. As of the time of typing this, my clock still says it's Saturday, so I'm not too off:) Anyway, this one should be much lighter than the previous chapters. I tried to make it humorous. I hope I succeeded. Also, Vanessa is a real named person. The other girls are not, and any parallels you see between all of Roy's "sisters" and canon characters are deliberate, and will come into play later on. Thank you, enjoy, and review, please.

Chapter 3

With the funeral and the train ride back to Central over, all Chris Mustang wanted to do was settle Roy into his new room in Madame Hari's and go to bed. However, their arrival in the hostess bar coincided with the household's lunch, which unceremoniously introduced poor Roy to his new sisters.

Four--now five--children lived in Madame Hari's little club. The four girls ranged in age from six to eight, and worked together to bring to fruition their little schemes. One day the girls would be perfect as intelligence collectors.

Brenna, the eight year old, was the leader and the plotter. She was of middle height for her age and round-shouldered. A mass of untamed fire red curls hung to her shoulders, framing a deceptively innocent face.

Vanessa, at age seven, was the one in charge of remembering the details. Her light brown hair was straight and she was tall and gawky.

Her younger half-sister Kate was dark-haired, and more closely resembled the girls' shared mother than did her older sister in her round face and petite frame. Kate's role--a role usually forced upon her--in their misdeeds was collecting the information, which she did by listening at keyholes and scampering up the stairs when the people on the other side came too close.

The last little girl was also six, pretty little Jacqueline with her wheat-yellow hair and big blue eyes. The other girls called her Jackie, and her job was to talk them all out of trouble with her inherent charm.

Currently, the four of them were standing in a half-circle around Roy, staring at the boy with curious expressions. Roy, for his part, looked rather panicked: Chris wasn't sure if the boy had ever seen so many girls in one place before in his life.

Suddenly, Jackie let out an eager squeal, and before any of the women--and Roy--had time to blink the girl had the poor boy's wrist in a python's grip and was dragging him upstairs. The other three followed, giggling to themselves. Roy cast his aunt a silent plea for rescue, but Chris only waved at him as the five of them vanished up the stairs.

The women sitting around the room were giggling almost as much as the little girls, but Madame Hari was not. Her mouth folded into a frown, and those emerald eyes flashing, the proprietor beckoned imperiously for Chris to follow her into her office. She had no choice but to obey.

"Well, Chris?" asked Hari when the door had shut behind them. "When you said you had to go to East City to take care of a family emergency, I wasn't expecting you to bring back a four year old boy."

Chris frowned. Neither was she. "He's my nephew."

"Family emergency didn't go well, I take it?" The Madame was gruff, but slightly more sympathetic. It was the closest she ever came to an actual apology. Chris shook her head.

"His parents died in a car accident. I'm the only family he has."

"What about his mother?"

Chris shrugged. "She was Xingese, but I don't know if she has any living family, or any family that would be willing to take in her son, even if they were."

"Well, then," Hari responded. "This changes things."

"How so, Madame?"

Hari stood up from her desk and began to pace the room. "I was hoping you would take over this place when I retire. You know this; we've discussed this before."

"Yes. Roy shouldn't change that. Three of the other girls have children."

"None of them are boys."

"That shouldn't matter, Madame."

Hari shook her head. "It does. The little girls can be used. In time, they can take their mothers' places. Your little Roy cannot."

Chris shook her head. She had thought about this before. She could do this. "But think of the possibilities with him, Madame. What other place in Amestris could he gain a better insight on other people than here? He's a very bright boy; given the proper teachings he could become an influential figure in the country."

Madame Hari smiled. "And in time, a very powerful man would be in a position to make good on his debts. You've thought this through."

Chris gave a wry smile. "And in the meantime, Roy can gain a little bit of information about the Central underworld. More men would be willing to talk in front of a boy than a girl, under the guise of giving some...male advice."

Hari laughed loudly. "You make a good case for him, Chris. Now, let's go rescue your poor nephew from the clutches of Brenna and her little gang of imps."

* * *

As it turned out, they didn't have to search for very long to find Roy. As soon as both women put a foot on the stairs, he came barreling down between them, rolled under a table, and put the legs of the chair between him and the stairs.

"Roy?" asked Chris. She came closer to him, looking at him curiously. Upon examination, he appeared to be wearing what looked like Brenna's play make-up, and he certainly smelled fresher than he did when the girls had dragged him upstairs.

"Aunty, don't let them get me!"

Chris would often look back on that statement in the years to come and wonder how she managed to keep a straight face. The panic in his eyes was so real that she had to wonder if monsters rather than small girls were coming down the stairs after him.

"There you are, Roy!" That high-pitched, cheerful voice was Jackie's, who was apparently their emissary. Chris thought they would have been better off with Kate, but convincing the shy girl to do anything took all exertions of sisterly force, and Vanessa currently had Kate by the back of her dress to prevent her from bolting back up the stairs.

"Hello, Jackie," gulped Roy. He backed up slowly on his hands and knees, making his way out from under the table, but also closer to the establishment's door.

"We were just wondering," continued Jackie as though Roy were not moving steadily closer to freedom. "why you left so quickly."

Roy was out from under the table now, and his voice sounded a little muffled when he replied, "I'm not so good at girly stuff." He must have been even with the tablecloth.

"You never know until you try," interjected Brenna. The oldest girl's eyes were following his path toward the door with raised eyebrows.

Roy was standing now. His eyes could be seen over the top of the table. "I did try, and now I know for sure that I'm not so good at girly stuff. So if you don't mind, I'm going to do boy things now."

And without another word, and before anyone in the room could stop him, he turned and sprinted out of the door onto the street.

Chris swore under her breath. Boy things, he said. Little boys liked to get dirty, and the rain that had fallen on his parents' funeral had proceeded them to Central. The little dirt plot around the front door was now muddy.

Chris ran to the window, and sure enough, Roy Mustang had done the classic stop-drop-and-roll into the mud. He sat up, grinning, and looked around.

Chris swore again.

About a year before, the lamppost outside had been removed and replaced with string lights on the awning. The hole had never been filled in, and it tended to fill with slop in the rain. Roy had now discovered this hole, and his face brightened.

The little boy reached a hand in the hole and pulled out a handful of the slop. With a broad grin, and before Chris could even pull herself away from the window to reach the door to stop him, he smeared the foul gunk all over his face like warpaint.

From the window of the door she could see him look again, and this time those adorable dark eyes locked on something else. Something large, moist, and brown sitting on the side of the road where horses were usually stopped at on this street.

"Not in a million years, Roy Mustang," Chris shouted, finally pulling the door open. She grabbed him by his collar and yanked him inside before he could smear a handful of that all over his face. "You will not come into this place smelling like something that came from the rear-end of a Clydesdale!"

Roy looked up at her, mud handprints all over his face and beaming like he'd done the most wonderful thing in the world. "But Aunty, there wasn't enough of it to be from a Clydesdale, so it's okay!"

This was not happening. Her brother did not mention once during her visit last year that his son had inherited the ability to twist anything anyone said to his advantage. Where did he get it from? Neither of his parents was ever that smart.

With a huff of air, she collared him again and dragged him upstairs for a bath. They never did finish that conversation, thank God.

* * *

That little incident would come back into Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang's mind as he sat with Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye on a little wagon being pulled by a draft horse in the town of Resembool. He had no idea why.

Secondary Author's Note: Look, it's Riza Hawkeye! She finally got a mention! Of course, in this time in Roy's life, she's maybe three, so I suppose it makes sense to not have her around. Yet:) I love Royai, if you haven't guessed.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. If I did, it wouldn't be ending next month. (Moment of silence, please)

Summary: A collection of snippets out of five years of Roy Mustang's life

Author's Note: I am sooooooooooooo sorry to everyone who was so nice as to read, review, favorite, and alert Raising Roy. I do not deserve such nice people reading my fics, and I'm trying to make up for it now. I can only offer that I had huge writer's block on this fic. You see, I have scenes in my head that make full length chapters coming after this. It was bridging that gap that was the problem. Therefore, this is a collection of the little ideas that I had that I couldn't make any longer. Hopefully it's worth the wait. Please read, enjoy, and review.

Chapter 4

In five years, much to the shock of his aunt, Roy Mustang grew from a cute, sad little child into a precocious, charming boy with hints of that future she had so boldly talked about to Madame Hari. Intelligent, insightful, and good-looking, she often had reason to be proud of the young man. He could also morph into an unholy terror, though this occurred with less frequency as he aged. All in all, Chris was quite satisfied with the way the boy had turned out.

That didn't necessarily mean the road to that point was smooth.

That first night, when the girls had dragged their new "brother" up the stairs before the clients arrived, had been one of the most disturbing of Roy's life. This was partly because his aunt had left him with a dire, "Do not come down here for any reason," but mostly because the girls had taken him to a secret place with a peep-hole into the common room. And then let him watch.

"Do you do this every night?" Roy asked Brenna, who nodded and patted him on the head. He scowled: she wasn't so much older than him that she could get away with that sort of thing.

"We have to know what we're getting into," interjected Jackie, who had been eavesdropping. "One day, that's going to be us."

"Even me?" asked the alarmed Roy as a very tall man led his aunt into a side room.

"Dunno about you," replied Jackie.

Roy frowned thoughtfully. All of these girls had a purpose to fulfill. It made sense that he had one too. What was his?

* * *

The girls' attempts to play dress up with Roy continued until Roy finally worked up the backbone to put his foot down at the age of seven. It never failed to amuse Chris and her fellows. Even Madame Hari cracked laughed on occasion, and she always smiled. The sight of a screaming boy in a dress simply never became old.

Roy called it psychological torture, proving to them all that, on his first day of school, he swallowed a dictionary. It may have been, as the merest hint of it starting up again-something that occurred any time he became too irritating for the girls-would cause him to run for cover.

* * *

For about two years after she had taken Roy home, Chris felt like that all they could ever be to each other was aunt and nephew, and that he would never view her as anything close to his mother.

That wasn't to say that she wanted to replace the deceased woman in Roy's heart, but she loved him as a son. It hurt to think he didn't love her as a mother.

In the winter of his sixth year, however, Roy came down with a severe case of the flu. The fever was dangerously high, and she took off from work to care for him. The pain in her heart at seeing the little boy in such a state shocked her to her core. It was all she could do to keep from crying. In her effort to keep herself together, she shook almost as much as he did from his chills.

As she stroked his hair back from his hot, sweat-covered forehead, he began to talk in his sleep. Most of it was nonsense, about how he hoped that Jackie wouldn't dress him up in his sleep and a trip to a fair that didn't exist. But then his hazy dark eyes flicked open and he said,

"Don't cry, Mom. I'm okay."

She did start crying then, and Roy's brow furrowed when he realized that she wasn't listening to him.

"Really, Mom, please don't cry. I don't like it when you cry. It means you're sad, and I don't want you to be sad."

"Oh, Roy, you poor thing," Chris said. "It's me, Aunty Chris."

"What's the difference?" he asked, completely lucid, before falling asleep again.

* * *

His first day of school was hard for her. She had grown used to his constant presence at Madame Hari's, and found the thought of him away from her hard to bear. He was excited, though, eager to get away from the place and experience new things. Even the thought of his four-woman escort to the schoolhouse-which consisted, naturally, of his obsessively protective sisters-could not damper her excitement over the thought of school.

He would not accept a hug and a kiss from her-he was a man now, since was going to school, and men did not get hugs and kisses from their primary female caregivers-but he did think enough to turn and smile and wave at her as the five of them left. Brenna insisted on holding his hand the whole way there, and he strained against her grip until he vanished from her sight.

"You're getting awfully sentimental about this, Chris," said Kate and Vanessa's mother. "You know they have to leave sometime."

"I know," she replied. "And I'm not his mother, so I shouldn't worry so much."

The other woman just chuckled and wandered away.

Roy came back from school considerably less thrilled than he had been when he left. It turned out that the books that the teacher read out loud to them were terribly easy: he could have read them himself in half the time it took her to read them; his classmates were stupid and couldn't read it at all; and wouldn't it be better if he just taught himself from now on?

Thus, Chris found herself in the strange position of persuading her stubborn, brilliant nephew to return to a place that she had not wanted him to go to eight hours earlier.

* * *

Roy Mustang was entranced by flickering light. They drew him like they drew moths, and the look on his face created strange emotions in Chris. She didn't know what was so fascinating to him about them, but it disturbed part of her.

Alchemy, with the lighting flashes of transmutation, was one of the easiest draws. His eyes would grow wide as the blue electric arcs danced around whatever alchemist had caught his fancy. If he glimpsed the shining silver watch of a State Alchemist on the street, he would run after them and pester them for "just one transmutation" until Chris would drag him away. On occasion, he would come home late from school smelling vaguely of ozone and she would know exactly what had taken him so long.

He was attracted to the flickering of the flames too. In the winter he would sit before the fire for hours, just watching them dance. More than once, he had remained their until the last embers had died away, his eyes narrowed in thought.

What he was thinking about, and this draw to fire and to alchemy, that was what worried her. She didn't know much about alchemy, but any thought of a man holding the power to create flames was not worth thinking about.

* * *

When Roy was eight, Madame Hari retired off to the East, and Chris took over. The biggest difference in the management of the business was that the girls and Roy now helped with serving food and drink-mostly the latter-and clean up. Madame Christmas, as she now called herself, would not let the clients anywhere near the girls, but she encouraged Roy to talk to them all.

She never really knew for sure what they discussed, but Roy came away looking intrigued. She figured the little tips and words of advice they imparted to him would come up eventually, and she never pressed him for answers. He wouldn't have talked anyway.

He picked up other things, like what types of drinks she served, and who preferred what. He knew who each of his "aunts" serviced, and he finally knew for sure what exactly they did. She figured he had known for a while.

His parents, she knew, would probably be incredibly upset if they knew what she was teaching their son.

* * *

In the almost five years he had known Fullmetal, it had never really dawned on him how much the boy had grown. Until now, until the end, when everything they had both been working for was coming to head, and the young man standing in front of him, yelling at him to quite making a grand entrance, was just that, a young man. Not a child, anymore, not that kid in the wheelchair with the determined eyes and a little brother in a suit of armor. And he felt so, so proud.

Secondary Author's Note: Well, I don't know if that last bit makes any sense to you guys, but I feel rather proud of it. Feel free to burst my bubble if you disagree, I deserve it for leaving you guys out in the cold. One last plea for a review:)


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